Doctor Hooey
by The Noble Platypus
Summary: Chrysanthemum's dull life is changed forever after meeting a pinstriped madman with an outrageous scarf. Chapter eight: it ends.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** This fic is not intended for women who are nursing, pregnant, or who may become pregnant.

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"I'm telling you, it would be wicked."

"It'd be stupid. Why go to all that work when you could just slip a squirrel some vodka and get the same result?"

"But it's all about the _process_, Chrys."

Chrysanthemum First rolled her eyes. She had involved herself in this conversation out of boredom, but some things--like pride--were more important than faint amusement. "Look, if you _really_ want to spend countless hours putting together a... er... what did you call it?"

"Mechasquirrel 3000," Mike prompted.

"Right, well, that's all fine. But I'm not letting you mess with any of Dad's old projects; it wouldn't work, anyway." Mike's shoulders slumped, and Chrysanthemum found herself wondering for the nth time just why she had ever agreed to date someone so needy. Probably that pesky boredom, again. "You could give it a proper chrome body or something," she soothed. "It's just that stuffed animals really aren't designed for movement. It's little paws would fall off, and then where would your plans for world domination be?"

"'M not after world domination," Mike sulked. "I just want it to _look_ real, so I can film it dancing and put it up on Youtube."

Chrysanthemum picked up a chip and pointed it at her boyfriend. "Then I'm telling you, just soak some peanuts or something in vodka--"

"I'm not going to get a squirrel drunk. It's immoral."

"As opposed to what, ripping apart one of the stuffed ones in my basement?" She popped the chip into her mouth and mumbled, "No respect for the dead."

"Sorry," he said softly, looking down at the tablecloth.

Detecting an incoming awkward pause, Chrysanthemum hurriedly said, "I was referring to the squirrels." But it was too late, and the awkward pause made itself comfortable in the café table's one unoccupied chair.

"So," the awkward pause cheerfully seemed to say, "how about your dead father? He sure is dead, isn't he? Chrysanthemum? Are you listening to me? I'm asking you about your _dead, dead father."_

Before either of them could think of something to say that would effectively banish the awkward pause, a shriek rang out from down the road. Chrysanthemum and Mike whipped their heads around to see what the fuss was about, and were confronted with what appeared to be--but couldn't have possibly been--a wooly mammoth. It was about a block away, knocking over dustbins. Faced with defeat, the awkward pause slouched off.

"What the hell is that?!" Mike asked, starting up out of his chair.

"It's gotta be a prank or something," Chrysanthemum said as the mammoth took out a street light and midday shoppers dove for cover. "It's _gotta_ be," she repeated more insistently.

But the mammoth was having a grand old time and had no intention of ceasing its merry rampage just because some human female thought it improbable. It stomped over a parked Volkswagon, reached the little outdoor café where Chrysanthemum and Mike had been dining, and commenced throwing chairs.

"Come on!" Mike grabbed Chrysanthemum's arm and pulled her away from the clustered, helpless tables and into the street. They watched as the mammoth decimated their table (as well as all the others--it seemed to be making a deliberate attempt to flatten each and every one). It trumpeted victoriously, and then turned and fixed a beady eye on Chrysanthemum and Mike.

Several things happened in rapid succession. Mike cried, "Run!" and turned to do just that. Someone exuberantly shouted, "Don't worry, everything's under contr--" There was a whump, a grunt, and a crash. The mammoth took a purposeful step forward. Chrysanthemum turned around to run, only to see Mike sprawled on the ground. Also sprawled on the ground was a thin man who would have been tall had he been upright. The stranger was staring at the shattered instrument in his hand, his expression wavering between outrage and resignation.

"Every time! Every bloody time I get something _new_ and--and _potentially really effective_," he waved the broken thing for emphasis, "one of you monkeys blunders in and breaks it! _Every time!"_ He wrinkled his nose. "Never even got a chance to use it."

"Sorry," Mike said as he scrambled to his feet. "Didn't see you."

"Yes, well," the strange man stood, brushed off his pants, and adjusted his garishly patterned scarf (which was also thin, and which would also have been tall were it stretched out vertically). "I suppose we'd better run, then."

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Review, if you are so inclined. This is my first Doctor Who fic, so any feedback would be greatly appreciated.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I will occasionally forget to do a disclaimer.

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It occurred to Chrysanthemum that in the time it had taken for the man to complain, pick himself up, and brush himself off, the mammoth could easily have gored her with one of its massive tusks. But when she turned to check how close she was to imminent death, she was surprised to see that the beast hadn't moved. It had paused mid-step, one hairy foot hovering above the pavement, and was looking at the man with its ears pricked forward.

"Well," the man said. Chrysanthemum turned back to look at him, and he flashed her a manic grin. "Shall we?" With that, he turned and sprinted off, the ridiculous scarf flapping gaily behind him.

There was an earth-shattering thud from behind her, which Chrysanthemum guessed was the product of a giant, hairy foot forcefully meeting the ground. But this time, she didn't turn to check. Instead, she grabbed Mike's arm and dashed after the rapidly retreating stranger, determined (though she wasn't quite sure why) not to lose him.

After careening down a few streets with more arm-flailing enthusiasm than Chrysanthemum thought was necessary, the man ducked into a narrow alleyway. She followed, dragging Mike behind her, and immediately had to skid to a halt to avoid bowling the stranger over.

The man blinked at her, then grinned in sudden recognition, as if it had been weeks since he'd seen her last and he'd needed a moment to place her. "Oh, hello!"

Chrysanthemum stared at him in consternation (he didn't even have the decency to look winded from the run), then turned to check for following mammoths. There was no sign of the creature, so she turned back to the stranger and pointed an unsteady finger at him. "You have some idea of what's going on?" She'd meant it to sound like an accusation, but somewhere between "have" and "of," it had turned into more of a desperate plea. To compensate, she tried to _look_ accusing, but judging by the man's faintly amused expression, she was doing a poor job of that, too.

"I might," he began, his expression sobering as he approached a battered, industrial-sized washing machine, "have a very, very, _very_ vague idea." He opened the washer, chucked the broken instrument inside, and swung it shut with a flourish.

"Who are you, anyway?" Mike asked, leaning against the brickwork as he caught his breath.

The stranger beamed. "I'm the Doctor."

Chrysanthemum frowned. "_The_ Doctor?"

The man's grin grew impossibly wider. "You've heard of me, then?" After taking in Chrysanthemum's baffled look, he continued at a cracking pace: "Or was your emphasis on 'the' your way of indicating skepticism or disbelief that I could possibly consider myself the _only_ doctor in existence, because there are obviously many doctors on earth, and you probably know some of them personally, and some of _them_ probably know _you_ a bit more personally than perhaps you'd even like them to? If that's the case, and it probably is, then I can assure you that while I am _not_ the only person to go by the title 'doctor,' I _am_ the only Doctor-with-a-capital-D that is at all qualified to handle the singularly unique situation you have here. Also, my _actual_ name is foreign and entirely unpronounceable, whereas the word 'doctor' is comprised of two friendly little syllables!" He grinned and rocked back on his heels. "Doc-torrrr! Isn't it lovely?"

The sensible part of Chrysanthemum's brain whispered that now would be a good time to run away from the crazy man. Now, while he was happy and looked to be unarmed. But the rest of her brain was still trying to process half of what the man--the Doctor--had said. After a few moments, she shook her head.

"Bollocks."

The Doctor peered at her, looking just a tiny bit unsettled. "What, don't you like the word 'doctor'?" He pouted a little, but Chrysanthemum just shook her head again, more sharply this time.

"Chrys," Mike plucked at her sleeve, but she shrugged him off and continued to glare at the Doctor.

"Can you or can you not do something about that mammoth?" she asked slowly and distinctly.

"Well," he said, clearly preparing to launch into another borderline-incomprehensible speech, "it's a bit more than just a mammoth--_quite_ a bit more, in fa--"

"Yes or no, Doctor?" Chrysanthemum snapped impatiently. He blinked at her in something like astonishment, then smiled.

"Yes, I can."

Chrysanthemum nodded. "Then we'll help."

"We'll what?" Mike cried.

"To help make up for breaking your..." Chrysanthemum gestured vaguely towards the washing machine, "whatever it was."

The Doctor considered her for a moment, completely ignoring Mike (who was spluttering indignantly in the background). A manic grin--already familiar--slowly spread across his face. He rocked forward onto the balls of his feet, shoved his hands in his pockets, and chirped, "Fantastic!"

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Much thanks for morph for reviewing. More would certainly be appreciated (cough hack pointed nod in the direction of the little periwinkle button in the lower left corner of the screen).


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** The chapter contains more words than the last chapter. Quite a few more, in fact.

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Before anything further could be said, a loud crash echoed up the alleyway. Mike poked his head outside, then hastily withdrew it.

"It's just down the block," he reported, looking anxiously from Chrysanthemum to the Doctor and back.

"Right," the Doctor said, abruptly shifting into business mode. He placed his hands on Chrysanthemum's shoulders and looked at her. "Chrysanthemum, is it? Ooh, that's a mouthful." He leaned back pensively, though his hands never left her shoulders. "Chry_san_themum. Chrysanthe_mum_. Chrysanthemummmmmmmmuh. Hmm. Right, I think I'll just call you 'Chrys,' if you don't mind. Much easier to shout in the heat of the moment."

Chrysanthemum was torn between indignation and reluctant amusement. "What?" she spluttered. The Doctor plowed forward as if he hadn't heard her, bringing his face unnecessarily close to hers.

"I need a large room--a _very_ large room--with at least one electrical outlet available, and it needs to be easily accessible from the street. Any ideas?"

"Well," Chrysanthemum said a bit hesitantly, unnerved by the Doctor's piercing gaze and his evident unfamiliarity with the notion of personal space, "there's, er... the gymnasium at the primary school. It has doors that lead out to the playground, and the playground's right next to the street."

"Excellent!" he released her and bounced back, then started pulling off his scarf. "Here, take this." He plunked the balled-up scarf into Chrysanthemum's hands, then started digging in one of his pockets. "You two are going to go to the school, prop open the gymnasium doors, and crouch just inside them, one on each side. Each of you can take one end of the scarf, and just leave it stretched along the floor. If all goes well, I'll come barreling in a few minutes later with our giant, hairy friend right behind me. As soon as I come in, lift up the scarf and hold on _tight_! That should trip up the mammoth--aha!" His hand emerged from his pocket clutching a small, cylindrical device.

"Wait," Mike said, taking advantage of the brief pause, "you think two people holding a _scarf_ is going to stop a mammoth?"

"Trip it, slow it down, distract it, buy me enough time to jam _this_," the Doctor waved the device for emphasis, "into one of the outlets."

"What is it?" Chrysanthemum asked, eyeing the device.

"Something that will, with any luck, stop our rampaging mammoth." He winked saucily at Chrysanthemum and re-pocketed it.

Mike was still stuck several paragraphs behind everyone else. "There is no way," he insisted, "that this scarf is going to stop a _mammoth_!"

The Doctor rolled his eyes in irritation. "This scarf," he growled, snatching it out of Chrysanthemum's hands and shaking it under Mike's nose, "is a state-of-the art hydrokinetic magnecarbon stain-proof wrinkle-proof polytitanium-cashmere blend hand-woven by the _expert_ seamstresses of Plexivortal IV! Pull it tight--it _will_ work." Mike fell into a stunned silence, which seemed to cheer the Doctor. He handed the scarf back to Chrysanthemum, who accepted it with narrowed eyes.

"The expert seamstresses of _where_, exactly?" she asked. But before the Doctor could answer, there was another loud crash, closer than the last one. An empty dustbin rattled past the alleyway.

The Doctor clapped his hands together briskly. "Right! Let's go, chop chop, quick like a bunny and all that!" Chrysanthemum watched in disbelief as, without further ado (though she wouldn't have put further ado past him), the Doctor charged out into the street and out of sight. "Oi, Snuffleupagus!" she heard him shout. "Your mother was a _tapir!"_ There was an irate trumpeting sound from the mammoth and a mad cackle from the Doctor.

"Right," Chrysanthemum said. "He's distracting it. We have to get to the school."

"Are you mad?" Mike cried. Chrysanthemum didn't respond, but a minute later, as they were jogging up the sidewalk, he felt compelled to try again. "No, seriously, are you mad?"

"He has a plan," she said. "It's insane, but it's better than nothing."

"Chrys," Mike admonished, picking up one end of the scarf and shaking it under her nose, much like the Doctor had done a few minutes ago to him. "Come on. _Hydrokinetic?_ That's not even a _word_. He's making it all up as he goes along!"

Chrysanthemum just shrugged, trying not to look as unsettled as she felt. Truth be told, she had no idea why she was hurrying towards the school instead of hurrying home. Her mum was probably worried sick about her. But the scarf was warm and soft in her hands, and a wild, hopeful little voice in her head was saying, _Maybe this could actually work_. Besides, this was the first proper adventure she'd ever had; she was willing to risk a bit of bodily harm if it meant the excitement would continue.

She considered whether or not to express this (and was leaning towards 'no'), then found that she no longer had to: they had reached the school. "Come on, " she said, running to the gymnasium doors and pushing them open dramatically.

At least, that's what she _would_ have done, had the doors not been locked. Instead, she ran right into them, slammed her forehead against the unyielding, metal surface, staggered backwards, and fell gracelessly onto her ass.

_Aha,_ she thought, _it's the weekend._

"Are you all right?" Mike asked in the tone of voice people use when they want to sound more worried than amused, even though it's really the other way around. He looked down at her, his brow furrowed in concern, the corners of his mouth twitching ever so slightly.

"Ow," Chrysanthemum said with feeling as he helped her back to her feet.

"Can we go, now? Find somewhere safe?"

Her head ached, and she was embarrassed--not a winning combination. "No, we can't _go_," she said with such unexpected venom that Mike took a step backward. "There might be more mammoths out there! And anyway, if the Doctor doesn't stop _this_ one, where exactly are we gonna go that's _safer_ than anywhere else?" Mike looked hurt, and she softened. "Look... can you just help me do this one thing? Please?" She gave him the pleading, kicked puppy look that had never failed to win him over in the past, and inwardly cheered at his defeated sigh.

"Fine. Let's go find a janitor or something."

The main entrance to the school was unlocked, and after a few moments of running around and shouting for help, it occurred to Chrysanthemum that they could just go into the gymnasium and push open the doors from the inside. It then occurred to her that from the outside, the doors should have been _pulled_ open, which made her slamming into them twice as stupid as she'd thought it a minute ago. They entered the gym and pushed open the doors, and if Mike had any choice comments about her earlier blunder drifting through his mind, he at least had the good grace not to verbalize any of them.

"So now we wait?" he asked as he propped the doors open.

Chrysanthemum nodded. "Now we..." she trailed off, eyes widening as she looked over Mike's shoulder. "Get into position!"

Startled, Mike looked over his shoulder. The Doctor was sprinting towards the doors, one fist held aloft. The mammoth was close behind him, tossing its head, enraged and roaring. Mike scrambled inside, reflexively clinging to the scarf Chrysanthemum pressed into his hands. She gripped the other end and crouched. "Get ready!" she shouted to Mike over the racket the mammoth was making. He dropped into a crouch as well, just in time. Half a moment later, the Doctor leaped through the door with an exuberant shout (it sounded suspiciously like "Yeeeee-haw!" though Chrysanthemum couldn't be certain with all the noise). She and Mike immediately straightened, pulling the scarf tight. The mammoth came blasting through the doors, its foot caught on the scarf, the scarf miraculously held for a moment before being whipped out of their hands, and the mammoth hit the waxed wood floor face-first and began to slide forward, trunk flailing in consternation.

"Shield your eyes!" the Doctor shouted from across the room. Mike was staring at the mammoth in shock; Chrysanthemum threw an arm over his eyes and covered her own as well. There was an angry squeal from the mammoth, then a high-pitched, keening buzz, then a loud "poof!" that reminded Chrysanthemum of an old-fashioned camera flash. Then there was a profound, deafening silence.

It was broken by the Doctor. "Well," he said, sounding pleasantly surprised, "that worked _quite_ nicely!"

Chrysanthemum gingerly lowered her arm. The mammoth was sprawled in the middle of the gym, unmoving. Its legs were splayed awkwardly, frozen in a vain attempt to right itself. It was dead.

The Doctor was pacing jauntily around it, his hands in his pockets, admiring his handiwork. He noticed Chrysanthemum staring and grinned at her. "See?" He thumped the mammoth's side with his palm. "Harmless!"

"How did you do that?" Chrysanthemum asked, hesitantly approaching the fallen giant.

"Well, after determining that the mammoth's animation was caused by a high-frequency wavelength measuring approximately--well, when I say, 'approximately,' I _really_ mean, 'exactly'--five hundred _thousand_, three hund--"

"In English," Chrysanthemum snapped, staring at him in exasperation.

He blinked at her, thrown. "Right. Er. I used this." He held out the device. Chrysanthemum took it and examined it closely. It was about three inches long, black and silver, excessively shiny, and topped by what appeared to be a small light bulb. It was entirely cylindrical except for the plug located at the bottom and two tiny little wings that jutted out of the sides for no apparent reason. It looked, she decided after a moment, like a night light that secretly wanted to be a rocketship, but didn't want to say so outright for fear of what its friends would think.

"What is it?" she asked, turning it over in her hands.

"A, er..." he said, looking a bit sheepish. "A sonic night light."

"A sonic night light?" she repeated, grinning incredulously.

The Doctor frowned, put out. "Well, I wouldn't have needed it if _someone_ hadn't gone and broken my blaster! And it worked, didn't it?" He snatched it back and cradled it protectively against his chest. "It's a perfectly good sonic device!"

"I suppose it _would_ take care of any monsters under the bed," Chrysanthemum conceded, head tilted to one side.

"Exactly!" He pocketed the sonic night light, then frowned at her. "Sorry, where were we?"

"You were telling us what the hell just happened," Mike said, coming up to stand besides Chrysanthemum. He folded his arms and scowled at the Doctor.

"Right. Yes. Well, long story short, the mammoth was brought to life by a high-frequency wavelength, and my sonic night light negated the effects. Still plenty to do; that mammoth won't be the _only_ stuffed creature affected by that wavelength--"

"Hang on," Chrysanthemum said. Her stomach felt suddenly heavy, as if it had been filled with rocks by a vindictive grandmother. "You mean this wavelength--it'll affect _any_ stuffed animal it comes across?"

"Yep!" He grinned. "Well, not the plush kind. Well, I don't _think_ the plush kind. Good grief, that would be horrifying. So many teddy bears..." He frowned pensively for a moment, then snapped back into cheerful mode. "Anyway, it's all part of someone's dastardly plot, no doubt. Soon as I locate the source, I'll be able to find out just who is behind all this."

"Before you do that," Chrysanthemum said haltingly, struggling to remain calm, "I need you to come to my house."

The Doctor looked momentarily baffled, then nodded in sudden understanding, smiled, and waved a hand in gracious dismissal. "Oh, there's no need to thank me. I know I've saved your lives and all that, but--"

"My father was a taxidermist," Chrysanthemum cut him off, growing increasingly agitated. "Our basement was his workshop. It's still... it's still full of..." she waved her hands expressively, and the Doctor gaped at her as if she'd just announced that Christmas had come early.

"No!" he said disbelievingly.

Chrysanthemum nodded once, wordlessly.

"Well!" The Doctor grinned. "Can't say no to that, can I? It'll be a _zoo!"_ He tugged his scarf out from underneath the mammoth and wrapped it around his neck with a flourish. "Lead on!"

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I never met a review I didn't like! Except for that one time. But we don't talk about that one time.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** No animals were harmed in the writing of this chapter. Technically speaking.

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It was about five minutes from the school to Chrysanthemum's house, provided you were running flat-out the whole time. The Doctor, fresh as ever despite all the dashing about that he'd been doing, seemed determined to make the journey in four. Chrysanthemum, however, had done a good deal more than her daily allotment of running (her daily allotment being "none"), and was more knackered than she cared to admit. As worried as she was, she couldn't manage much more than a brisk jog. So the Doctor would dash ahead, scoping out intersections and peeking around corners, and then dash back like a lanky puppy to urge Chrysanthemum and Mike (who was in slightly better shape but hanging back out of kindness) to greater speeds.

At that particular moment, he was half a block ahead of Chrysanthemum and Mike, bouncing on the balls of his converse-clad feet. "Is this your intersection?" he called back to her.

"Next block!" Chrysanthemum waved him forward, then slowed, clutching at a stitch in her side. The Doctor turned and loped ahead, Mike put a hand on her back.

"Look," he said, panting slightly, "let's just walk for a minute, all right? Your mum's fine; you keep the basement door locked, don't you?"

Chrysanthemum nodded, and gratefully slowed to a walk. The basement door had a disconcerting tendency to swing open of its own accord when it wasn't locked, so they kept it locked almost all the time, laundry day excepting.

"Right or left?" the Doctor bellowed, now a full block away. He was hopping impatiently from side to side.

"Left!"

The Doctor turned and squinted. "Which drive is it?"

"Oh, for Pete's sake," Chrysanthemum huffed under her breath before raising her voice. "You can't just go barging into my house--you'll scare my mum to death!"

He let out a sigh so exaggerated that it was easily audible from over a block away, then came galumphing irritably back towards them. "Why on earth are you _walking?"_ he cried as he approached, as if it was _his_ mother they were going to rescue. He stopped in front of Chrysanthemum and gave her a disapproving frown, which she promptly found herself resenting. So she was a bit out of shape--it wasn't as if he knew her well enough to expect better of her. He didn't have to look so bloody disappointed.

Still. "I was just catching my breath," she said, grudgingly breaking into a trot.

The Doctor's face broke into a grin. "Excellent! Come on, it's not far, now." He grabbed Chrysanthemum's hand and tugged her forward enthusiastically.

"Oi!" Mike shouted indignantly. Chrysanthemum shot him a helpless, apologetic look over her shoulder. The Doctor ignored him.

By the time they reached her house, Chrysanthemum's cramp had returned with a vengeance; she was practically doubled over. The Doctor released her hand and rapped on the door, then brazenly pushed it right open and poked his head inside before she could summon the breath to tell him off.

"Hello? Chrysanthemum's mum?" He blinked, then giggled. "'Mum's mum!" He glanced back at Chrysanthemum to see if she was amused. She gave him as baleful a look as she could manage as she leaned against the brick exterior, puffing for air. The Doctor sobered. "Sorry."

"Chrys?" The girl's mother appeared at the top of the staircase, then came thundering down towards the door. _"There_ you are! Have you heard the news? There are _mammoths_ out there!" She brushed past the Doctor with hardly a second glance and enveloped her daughter in a hug. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, Mum."

"Ooh, hello, Mike!" she said over Chrysanthemum's shoulder.

"Hi, Mrs. First."

"Right," she said, stepping back and eyeing the Doctor suspiciously. "Who's this, then?"

"He's the Doctor. Doctor, this is my mum, Gillian."

"Pleasure to meet you," he said as he looked over the woman's shoulder, peering into the house as if he expected the basement door to be in plain sight and clearly labeled.

"He's a doctor?" Gillian First gave the stranger a dubious look, then wrinkled her nose. "Hooey. He doesn't look anything like the blokes from _Casualty_."

The Doctor blinked at the woman in shock and opened his mouth to say something, but before he could complain or pout or whatever it was he had planned, Chrysanthemum spoke. "You haven't been down in the basement, have you?"

"It's not laundry day," Gillian replied. "Why?"

"We have reason to suspect your husband's taxidermy subjects may have come to life," the Doctor explained helpfully, dropping the pout in favor of an excited little smile. "Like the mammoths! Well, mammoth singular. And we've already taken care of that one." Now he was grinning outright.

Gillian stared at the Doctor for a moment, then leaned towards Chrysanthemum. "Is he mental?"

"Quite probably," Chrysanthemum replied. The Doctor frowned and examined his shoes. "But I'm sure we'll all feel better if we just let him check out the basement. He _did_ manage to stop that mammoth."

"Well, all right." Gillian ushered them inside and shut the door.

The basement was quiet. Chrysanthemum tried to stomp on the thought, _Too quiet_, before it could float through her brain, but it squirted out from beneath her foot and floated on through, anyway. She wrinkled her nose as she stepped onto the threadbare carpet at the bottom of the stairs.

"Awfully quiet down here," the Doctor breathed behind her as his eyes roamed over the various creatures on display. Mike drifted over to a small stand of grey squirrels and started to poke at them longingly. Gillian hung back on the steps, one hand gripping the banister with white knuckles.

"Any of them moving?" she asked.

"Doesn't look like it," said Chrysanthemum. She was almost disappointed. Wandering over towards one of the high, squat windows, she allowed her fingers to gently brush the pinions of a mallard frozen in flight. Then she frowned. There was a slight draft ruffling her hair--rhythmic puffs of air, like breathing. She let out an impatient sigh and half turned, intending to tell off the Doctor for being obnoxious (and not a little pervy), but she froze. The Doctor wasn't behind her anymore; he had crossed to the far side of the room to examine a massive stuffed marlin mounted on the wall. Mike was still by the squirrels, and her mum was still on the stairs. Who, then, was breathing on her?

Slowly, she turned.

Hanging on the wall behind her was the head of an eight-point buck. As she watched, its nostrils flared, and it exhaled a warm, moist puff of air from lungs it didn't possess. It blinked twice, then flicked an ear.

"Doctor?" Chrysanthemum said in a tiny voice.

"I know, it's weird, isn't it? Why aren't any of these acting up?"

Chrysanthemum swallowed. "This one is."

"What?" The Doctor turned away from the marlin, and the deer jerked its head, startled. One of its antlers clacked against the wall. Gillian let out a squeak of surprise, and the deer snorted and jerked its head again, antlers gouging the wallpaper.

"Everyone, hold still and be quiet," the Doctor breathed. Chrysanthemum slowly turned her head just enough to keep half an eye on the Doctor and half an eye on the deer. The Doctor slowly reached into his pocket. The deer snorted again, then stretched its neck and sniffed Chrysanthemum's hair as she bit her lip, trying not to move.

The Doctor was just easing the sonic night light out of his pocket when the room exploded. The mallard beside Chrysanthemum flapped into the air, bouncing off the ceiling and quacking frantically. Gillian screamed, startled, and the deer started to whip its head about in earnest, the antlers providing a sharp, percussive back beat for the ensuing chaos. The marlin burst into scale-shimmering life, its flailing tail walloping the Doctor in the back of the head. As the Doctor stumbled forward, fumbling the sonic night light, the squirrels bounded off their display. Mike whirled in a circle and let out a rather undignified shriek as two of them gleefully chased each other around his torso; the third squirrel spied the sonic night light on the carpet and zipped off with it before the Doctor could grab it. He lunged for the squirrel with what sounded like some sort of war cry, and Gillian screamed again. A fox took an interest in the Doctor's coat and snapped playfully at it as the Doctor made another grab at the squirrel. The duck, unnerved by the frequent flashes of the fox's teeth, quacked louder and careened off the wall. Mike made a dash for the staircase, but slipped on one of the half dozen fish that had wriggled off their stands to land, flopping, on the floor. The fish in question flew through the air and hit Gillian in the shin, eliciting another scream as the woman hopped up a few steps.

Throughout all this, Chrysanthemum had stood rooted to the spot, shoulders hunched stiffly as her eyes darted around the room to catch the action. Now, she squinched her eyes shut and bellowed, "Everyone, _SHUT UP!"_

The Doctor froze in astonishment, arms flexed awkwardly behind him as he tried to get at the squirrel, which was clinging to his coat just between his shoulder blades. The fox had a corner of the Doctor's coat in its mouth, but it let go and slunk back, tail down. Gillian wavered on the staircase. Mike pushed himself into a sitting position as the mallard made a clumsy landing on the washing machine, webbed feet scrambling for purchase on the slick surface. The other two squirrels clung to the wall, motionless except for their tails, which flipped back and forth. The deer even stopped tossing its head, though it was still breathing heavily through flared nostrils.

"Right," she said softly. "Hold still, Doctor." She slowly crept up to the Doctor, trying not to spook the squirrel. It twitched its tail and crawled up to the Doctor's shoulder, gripping the sonic night light in its teeth. Chewing her lip in concentration, Chrysanthemum darted her hand towards the squirrel. As if reading her mind, the Doctor made a grab for it at the same time. The squirrel spun in a tight circle, trapped between two oncoming hands, and Chrysanthemum managed to grab it around its round, furry midsection. The warm, squishy, _alive_ feeling it had was almost unsettling enough to make her drop it--this squirrel didn't feel stuffed at all. But she held on as the Doctor extracted his sonic night light from the squirrel's jaws. Relieved of the mouthful, the squirrel began to chatter indignantly.

"Yes, I _know_," the Doctor said to the squirrel, "but it's _mine_, so shut it." The squirrel fell into a sulky silence, and the Doctor raised an eyebrow at Chrysanthemum. "Well done, you," he said, impressed, before turning to look for an outlet. He found one and crouched by it. "Right, you all know the drill. Well, most of you do. Well, just two of you, which I suppose wouldn't count as 'most' if you consider the animals, but then, we don't really _want_ the animals to know the drill, as that would completely defeat the purp--"

"Doctor," Chrysanthemum snapped.

"Yes, anyway," he said in a dignified tone, as if he hadn't been cut off. "Humans, shield your eyes!"

Her hands were occupied holding the squirrel, which seemed to know what was coming and thrashed in objection, so she settled for squeezing her eyes shut. Once again there was the buzz and the "poof!" She felt the squirrel harden in her hands as the life abruptly left it, and she opened her eyes.

"Right." The Doctor surveyed the frozen animals with satisfaction, then ran a hand through his hair. "Upstairs, everyone. We need to have a chat."

OoOoOoOoO

Right. Sorry about the late update; in the spirit of Doctor Who, I've been writing this in an unlinear sort of way. So I can tell you that the climax is going to be fantastic... I just don't know when or exactly how we're going to get there. Thanks for bearing with me (hee! I'm being future-punny! You'll get this joke in about three years, at the rate I'm writing!).


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** This was written in a frenzy of inspiration, and may or may not actually be any good. The author's rather fond of it, though.

OoOoOoOoO

Chrysanthemum had assumed--perhaps naïvely--that by "have a chat," the Doctor had meant, "have a conversation in which everyone contributes more or less equally." By that definition, they were not having a chat. If anything, they were having a monologue. The Doctor paced about the living room, raking his hands through his hair and muttering to himself while the other three watched him from various comfortable seats. Chrysanthemum sat on the couch with her mum, and Mike sprawled in an armchair, surreptitiously trying to trip the Doctor every time he paced by. So far, he hadn't had any success.

"Think, think, think!" the Doctor growled, clutching at his hair and sounding a bit like Winnie the Pooh might, were he a real bear and just a little bit rabid. "They should have been animated before we arrived--long before. It doesn't make _sense!_ What took them so long?" He removed his hands from his hair, leaving it sticking up in odd tufts. "Perhaps something in the basement walls... no, that wouldn't account for it, the delay was far too great. C'mon, brain..." he scratched his chin and frowned at the wall. "Unless... wait... YES!" he bellowed, making everyone start in their seats. "It's not a general wave, it's _selective_, and _that_ means someone's aiming it! Ha-_ha!"_ He pressed his palms against his forehead and paced with increased vigor, his eyes gleaming with triumph.

"Why aim it here?" Chrysanthemum tentatively asked.

"Excellent question from the young lady in the front row!" The Doctor whirled about, coat billowing, to face her. She resisted the urge to shrink back in her seat. "Why, indeed?"

Mike sat up sharply. "Where'd the mammoth come from?"

The Doctor glanced at him, baffled by the non-sequitur. "What?"

"The mammoth," Mike insisted. "Must've come from the museum, yeah?"

"Yes, of course," the Doctor said, waving a dismissive hand. "What's that got to do with anything?"

"Well," Mike said, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees, "have you been to the museum today?"

The Doctor frowned. "Yes..."

"And were you there at the same time that the mammoth came to life?"

Chrysanthemum blinked in astonishment and she abruptly got where Mike was going. She frowned at the Doctor in sudden, growing suspicion. If he was capable of de-animating the animals, he was probably capable of animating them in the first place. But why would he or anyone do such a thing? She couldn't think of any reasons besides just showing off, and that didn't seem likely.

The Doctor was staring at Mike in astonishment. "You're not a complete idiot!" he exclaimed. Chrysanthemum's stomach clenched--was he going to admit that he'd done it all? "And--yes, it all makes sense!" He ran a hand through his already mussed hair; he now bore a passing resemblance to Sonic the Hedgehog. Taking a deep breath, he announced, "They're aiming at _me!"_

Mike slumped, scowling, back into his chair as Chrysanthemum felt her stomach unclench. The Doctor resumed pacing. "But who," he muttered as he paced, "would do such a thing? And _why?"_ He stopped. "Well, it's easy enough to figure out, I suppose. But I'll need help." He raised his eyebrows at Chrysanthemum and grinned. "Fancy another jog?"

Gillian wrapped an arm around Chrysanthemum's shoulders. "What d'you need _her_ help for? And what makes you think I'm going to let my only daughter go swanning off with some stranger who makes dead things come back to life?"

"First off," the Doctor said, voice stern, "I don't _make_ them come back to life, they just come back to life _around_ me. At least, that's the theory, soon to be tested. And secondly," now he looked genuinely concerned, "did you, er, miss the bit when I froze them all? Saved the day? It was only just a few minutes ago..." he gestured vaguely towards the basement door.

"That still doesn't explain why you need Chrys' help," Mike said.

"You've been helpful so far," the Doctor told her with a smile and a shrug.

Chrysanthemum bit her lip, then grinned. "Make it a brisk walk instead of a jog, and you have yourself a date."

"Chrys!" Gillian and Mike gasped in unison.

"What?" she asked, folding her arms defensively and leaning back into the couch.

"You might get hurt!"

"He's off his rocker!"

"Oh, I assure you, if I had my rocker here, I'd be on it," the Doctor said cheerfully. "Comfortable things, rockers. But it's back in the WARDIP, unfortunately."

Chrysanthemum blinked at him. "The what?"

"The WARDIP," the Doctor repeated. "It's my--" he paused, as if rethinking his choice of words, "vehicle. You could see it, if you like." He paused again. "If you're coming."

She thought for a moment, more out of a desire to show her mum and Mike that she _was_ thinking than because she hadn't yet made up her mind. When she was with the Doctor, things were actually _interesting_ and _exciting_, two words that certainly never would have been used to describe her life so far. And the Doctor received bonus points for actually addressing her instead of talking about her as if she wasn't present. Figuring that she had appeared sufficiently thoughtful, she stood. "Definitely coming."

Mike gaped. Gillian sputtered. The Doctor grinned.

"Fantastic!" He shoved his hands in his pockets and headed for the front door, a bounce in his step. Looking at Chrysanthemum over his shoulder, he added, "Would you be so kind as to nip downstairs and grab one of the squirrels? Doesn't matter which. I'll meet you outside."

"But you can't _go!"_ Gillian said, getting up off the couch as Chrysanthemum unlocked the basement door. "D'you hear me?"

Chrysanthemum heard the front door shut. She leaned back from behind the basement door and looked at her mother, wide eyes full of innocent bafflement. "Why not?"

"Because... because..."

"He's barking mad!" Mike insisted, also rising out of his seat. Chrysanthemum ducked down the steps, rolling her eyes where it wouldn't be seen, then called back, "So?"

_"'So,'_ she says!" Gillian shrieked in disbelief. _"'So'?"_

Mike started to say something, but Chrysanthemum had reached the basement and stopped paying attention. The two squirrels that had been on the wall were now lying on the carpet, legs splayed from gripping the wallpaper. The one she'd been holding was a study in rodent indignation, little paws stretched, body half twisted and eyes half shut, tail bristling. Feeling a stab of remorse, she picked it up and turned back to the stairs.

Gillian was standing on the bottom step, arms folded. "You're not going."

Chrysanthemum snorted. "What are you going to do, Mum? Lock me down here? If the Doctor doesn't leave soon, they might come back to life again."

Gillian wavered, then shook her head. "He can leave without you, then. I'm not having you going off and--"

She was interrupted by a loud bang and a faint, cheerful, "whoops!" from outside. Chrysanthemum grinned as a fierce urge to protect her daughter was elbowed aside by a fierce urge to protect her garden, and Gillian whirled about and thundered up the stairs. They both brushed by Mike and out the front door, where one of the rose bushes was in flames. Gillian screeched. Chrysanthemum raised an eyebrow, noting that the Doctor had considerately picked the bush that had been doing a bit poorly since spring, anyway.

"Sorry," the Doctor said, not looking even a bit remorseful. He smiled at Chrysanthemum. "Ready to go?"

"Yep!" Chrysanthemum squeezed past her mother, who was huffing incoherently, and followed the Doctor down the driveway.

"What did you _do_ to it?" Gillian shrieked.

"It was an accident!" the Doctor lied as Mike fumbled with the hose. "Won't happen again!" Lowering his voice, he added, "Best make our getaway before they put it out," and broke into a quick jog. Chrysanthemum grinned and followed.

Once they were around a corner and out of sight, the Doctor slowed to the promised brisk walk.

"So," Chrysanthemum asked as she shifted the squirrel from one hand to the other, "what exactly are we doing?"

"I'm hoping whatever is doing this can't really get a bead on me unless I stay in one spot, which is why we're briskly walking for the moment. As soon as we're close to the WARDIP, we'll stop and see if this little fellow comes back to life. If he does, we'll persuade him to lead us to the source of the wavelength."

"And if he doesn't?"

"Then we'll think of something else. Here," he started to take off his scarf, "best wrap him up in this so he doesn't just nip you and run off." Between the two of them, they managed to all but mummify the squirrel in the scarf, then Chrysanthemum tucked the bundle under her arm and they walked in a companionable silence.

After a bit, Chrysanthemum asked, "What did you mean by, _'whatever_ is doing this'? It's gotta be a person, right? Or a--corporation or something."

"Think so?" He raised an eyebrow at her. "Any corporations you know of that specialize in reanimation?"

"Well, no... then again, it's not like they'd tell us if they could, would they? It's probably all top secret." She paused. "But why are they after _you?_ What've _you_ done?"

He shrugged. "Well, I've done all sorts of things. Bound to have made a few enemies in the process."

"You have that weird gadget, that sonic night light," she said, half to herself. "Did you used to work for one of those top secret corporations? And now you've absconded with some of their toys, and you're a security threat or something?" He laughed aloud at this, a delighted laugh that managed, barely, not to offend her.

"I suppose you could say that," he said, grinning at the horizon.

"Well, if you can undo what they do, you _must_ be involved with them, somehow," she argued, flustered.

"Oh, I am. I'm just not sure who 'they' are, yet. But we'll find out." He stopped abruptly. "This should do it," he said, leaning back against a low, brick wall.

Chrysanthemum looked around. They were in the same general area as she and Mike had been in when they met the Doctor; the café was only a block or two away. But what was this 'WARDIP' the Doctor kept mentioning? It seemed like a silly name for a car. She hesitated, then copied his posture and shifted the bundled-up squirrel from under her arm. Clutching it in her hands, she waited.

They didn't have to wait long. The bundle quivered, and Chrysanthemum jumped, fighting the urge to drop it. "It's awake!" she cried as an angry, muffled chittering issued from deep within the folds of scarf.

"Come on, then!" The Doctor started down the sidewalk, and Chrysanthemum jogged to catch up. He ducked into a familiar alleyway and stopped in front of the huge, dented washing machine.

Chrysanthemum stared at it. "What've we come back here for?"

"This," the Doctor said, patting the washer and beaming with pride, "is the WARDIP."

"... It's a washing machine."

"So it is."

"You said the WARDIP was a vehicle!" Chrysanthemum cried, clutching the squirming bundle and fighting back the sudden, unpleasant feeling that this was all some sort of sick, elaborate prank.

"It is," he said mildly. "Look, I know it sounds crazy, but please, just... have a look." He eased the door open, then stepped away from the machine and gestured towards the open door.

She stared at it and trembled. "I'm holding onto a zombie mummy squirrel and you want me to stick my head inside a washer!" she wailed, wondering why on earth she hadn't listened to her mum and just stayed home.

"Just look," he said, taking another step back and holding his hands up. "I'm not going to shove you in or--"

_"Shove me in?"_ she repeated, almost hysterical.

"I'm _not_, I'm _not_ going to shove you in! If it _was_ a normal washer, you wouldn't _fit!"_ the Doctor cried. "Look, I'll stand way over here if you like..." he turned and strode down the alley until he was a good thirty feet away. "Way back here, see?" She wavered, staring distrustfully at him. "Please," he said gently. "Just. Look."

She hesitated, then inched towards the machine, not taking her eyes off the Doctor. He gave her an anxious, encouraging smile. Biting her lip, she crouched a little and gave the interior a quick glance. Then she blinked, turned, and gave it a long, proper look.

Given the outer dimensions of the machine, the inside was far, far larger than it had any right to be. A short walkway led to a huge, round room dominated by a central column, which was surrounded by a low railing and covered with screens, dials, and levers. Triangular, dusty-blue support beams marched around the circular wall and emitted a steady, unobtrusive hum. Round, coin-colored lights were set in the floor, illuminating the impossible interior with their faint, comforting glow.

"See?" The Doctor had snuck up on her, but she was too absorbed in the scene before her to care. She glanced back at him, and he grinned at her expression. "Care to go in? You don't have to," he hastily added, "I just need to pop in and grab a few things, is all. I figured I'd show you the inside so you, y'know, wouldn't think I was some sort of nutter when you saw me climb in." He rubbed the back of his neck and looked a bit sheepish.

Chrysanthemum looked back into the washer. A cherry red slide led from the door to a thick mat on the floor several feet below. When she saw that the shattered blaster was lying on the mat, she let out a giggle that was a bit loopier than she'd intended. Maybe the Doctor _was_ crazy, but if that was the case, she shared the delusion. She might as well go with it. Go with the flow. She giggled again.

"Are you all right?" The Doctor frowned at her.

"I think so," she replied, straightening and gripping the thrashing scarf bundle with renewed determination. "And... I think I _would_ like to go in."

"Excellent!" The Doctor brightened. "Here, I'll go first and show you how it's done." He placed his hands on top of the machine to steady himself, then swung his legs into the round doorway and slid out of sight. "Chrys?" When she poked her head inside, he was standing next to the slide and holding his hands up. "Pass me the squirrel, if you please." She plunked the bundle into his hands, then withdrew her head and glanced up and down the alleyway. Satisfied that no one was watching, she set one foot on top of the slide, braced herself against the door, swung the other foot up, and slipped inside the WARDIP.

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Well, that was fun to write. Ten million points to anyone who can guess what WARDIP stands for!


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer:**

OoOoOoOoO

Chrysanthemum landed on the mat with only the slightest of wobbles.

"Welcome aboard the WARDIP!" the Doctor said, making an expansive arm gesture and nearly dropping the thrashing bundle of squirrel in the process. "She's sentient, so don't touch her anywhere _you_ wouldn't want to be touched, _and_--" Chrysanthemum jerked her hand away from one of the support beams as the Doctor brushed past her, "best close the door." She turned around and blinked. The door was still at about eye level, but the slide was gone. In its place was a metal ladder, the rungs more like flat, narrow steps--the sort you'd see on a playground slide, in fact. He reached outside and pulled the door shut, then turned to face her. "Well," he said just a tad defensively after taking in her expression, "you ever try climbing up a slide? Not very easy, is it?"

Chrysanthemum swallowed something that might have been a grin. "I didn't say anything."

"Yes, well--" the Doctor was cut off by a fierce, raspy trill from the squirrel. He frowned down at it. "Will you _stop fussing?"_ The increased volume of the furious chitters were as good as a 'no.' The Doctor rolled his eyes, then held the bundle out towards Chrysanthemum. "D'you mind taking him while I dig out the neural incapacitator? It'll only be a moment."

"Better make it quick," she replied as she took the squirrel once again. It had managed to free its hind legs and was kicking furiously with them; it was all she could do to avoid being scratched. As the Doctor buried himself shoulder-deep in a wall compartment and rummaged, she tried to capture the squirrel's hindquarters in an extra fold of scarf. The Doctor had more luck than she did, emerging a moment later with a triumphant "Ah-HA!" and what appeared to be a microwave. In fact--Chrysanthemum squinted to be sure--it _was_ a microwave.

"Found it! Told you it'd only take a moment!" The Doctor plunked the microwave onto an odd, blocky bit of furniture too short to be a table and too tall to be a bench. After popping open the door with considerable panache, he turned to Chrysanthemum. "All right, chuck him in!"

Chrysanthemum frowned. "It's a microwave."

The Doctor looked at the microwave, then back at her, brow furrowed. "No, it's not. It's a neural incapacitator."

"It has a button that says 'popcorn.'"

"Well, sometimes you have to neurally incapacitate popcorn!" He folded his arms. "In fact, you have to do it quite often, thus the one-touch setting."

"Do you also often need to neurally incapacitate--" she craned her neck, "--pizza and baked potatoes?" The Doctor opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off. "I know a microwave when I see one, Doctor, and I'm not letting you--"

It was the Doctor's turn to interrupt. "Five minutes ago, you thought you knew a washing machine when you saw one." Chrysanthemum shut her mouth, blushing, and he leaned back against the bench-table with a victorious little smile. "It _was_ a microwave," he conceded in a gentler tone, "but I've made some adjustments. And I can assure you that it won't harm your fuzzy little friend, because it _can't_. The squirrel's already dead, remember? What could I possibly do to it?" He spread his arms, the picture of innocent bafflement. When she didn't respond, he folded his arms and tilted his head towards the microwave. "Go on."

She hesitated, then scowled and walked over. "I don't care if it _is_ technically dead," she warned as she reluctantly bundled the squirrel into the microwave, "if you blow it up or anything, I'm going to be very upset with you."

"And we can't have that," he said seriously as he helped extract the scarf from the microwave without the squirrel escaping. A moment later, he'd shut the door. They both watched as it scrabbled its paws against the glass.

"Right," the Doctor said, allowing his fingers to roam over the buttons. "I think... _this_ one ought to do it." He pressed a button marked "defrost ice cream" and stepped back. The microwave clicked, then the inside light switched on with an accompanying hum. The squirrel began to rotate. At first it stood stiffly, alarmed at this turn of events, but it soon recovered and launched itself at the door, scratching wildly until the spinning glass base carried it off to the side, at which point it repositioned itself and resumed its futile escape attempt, the rapid _scrit-scrit-scrit-scrit-scrit_ almost drowning out the hum of the machine.

Chrysanthemum shifted and bit her lip. "Doctor..."

"Needs a bit more juice," he agreed, reaching over and pressing "power level." After a moment's hesitation, he hit "9", and the hum increased in pitch.

"Isn't that a _bit_ much?" she asked, voice shrill. The Doctor shrugged. The squirrel scratched with more frantic energy, then sat back, tail bristling, and screeched.

Chrysanthemum didn't know if it was in pain or merely furious, and she didn't care. "That's enough!" she snapped, lunging forward and popping open the door, killing the hum and the light. The squirrel leaped out of the microwave, raced up her arm, and gave the Doctor a thorough scolding from her shoulder.

"It's not hurt," the Doctor insisted, peering at it.

"It's not happy, either!"

"It's a 'zombie mummy squirrel' that will be returned to its original _stuffed_ state once it's served its purpose! Of course it's unhappy; wouldn't you be?" He raised his eyebrows at the squirrel. "Are you going to cooperate?" The squirrel made a noise that was rude in any language, and the Doctor stepped back, exasperated. "You try," he urged Chrysanthemum, "he seems to like you."

The girl sighed, then turned her head. Feeling foolish, she said to the squirrel, "I have a proposition for you." Much to her surprise, the squirrel twitched its tail, then climbed down to the crook of her elbow so she could more easily look it in the eye. The Doctor's eyebrows shot up, but he didn't interrupt. Chrysanthemum gulped, unnerved by the creature's sudden, quiet attentiveness. "Right," she continued, "if you help us out by leading us to the, er, source of the wavelength thing that woke you up, then I'll take you home so you can be with your friends and go back to your nap. Sound all right?"

The squirrel considered this, head tilted to one side, then chirped. It shot down her leg like she was nothing more than a tree, and a moment later it was by the WARDIP's door, watching them expectantly.

"What exactly did that microwave _do_ to it?" Chrysanthemum asked, hardly believing her eyes.

"It was _supposed_ to dumb the squirrel down a bit, making it more prone to suggestion, but it seems to have had the opposite effect." The Doctor frowned at the microwave. "Strange. But as long as it's willing to lead us to the source..." he shrugged, folded up his scarf, and looped it over the railing. "Let's not keep it waiting; it might lose interest."

"You're not bringing the scarf?"

"We might have to run for our lives!" The Doctor grinned. "And I'd hate to trip. Ruins the moment. Come on!" He strode over to the door and pushed it open, allowing the squirrel to hop out into the alleyway. Once the squirrel had cleared the doorway, the Doctor poked his head out and checked the alley. He withdrew his head long enough to say, "All clear," then climbed out into the daylight. After a last, brief look at the WARDIP's interior, Chrysanthemum followed.

It took her a moment to spy the squirrel; it was clinging to the brick wall of one of the buildings bordering the alley. It scurried out towards the street, and Chrysanthemum jogged to catch up with it. The Doctor shut the WARDIP and followed. Glancing around the corner, Chrysanthemum could see a few police cars some blocks away. The squirrel led them in the opposite direction, alternately crawling along the wall and bounding down the sidewalk.

Charming little cafes and shops eventually gave way to empty buildings and graffiti-covered walls, then to a series of warehouses. Most were empty, windows broken by delinquent youths with either decent aim or admirable persistence. It was into one of these abandoned warehouses that the squirrel finally disappeared.

The Doctor scoped out the warehouse from a safe distance, a thoughtful frown on his face. After a moment, he turned to Chrysanthemum. "This could get dangerous. Sure you don't want to go home?"

"I'm not just going to leave my squirrel at the mercy of... whatever's in there," she said, stubbornly poking her chin forward. "And I didn't come all this way just to turn back. I want to know what's going on."

The Doctor grinned, as if this was the answer he'd been hoping for. "Excellent! Off we go, then!" He strode towards the warehouse door with a jaunty little bounce in his step, not even attempting discretion. Chrysanthemum raised her eyebrows and followed.

About twenty feet from the door, he stopped dead and reached out an arm to bring Chrysanthemum to a halt as well. She looked up to see him frowning, eyes shut, one hand brushing his forehead.

"What is it?" she asked, keeping her voice low.

His frown deepened, then his eyes snapped open. "Get back."

"What?"

"Back, back, back!" He grabbed her shoulders and steered her back to the shade of a neighboring warehouse, all the while muttering creative curses under his breath. "Did you feel anything?" he asked once they'd stopped. "Up here, I mean?" He tapped her forehead with a finger and she flinched, confused and a little irritated.

"No, I didn't feel anything. Why?"

"Figures; they wouldn't be after you." The Doctor turned away and started digging through his pockets.

Chrysanthemum let out a little, exasperated sigh. "Who's 'they'?"

He glanced at her, face grim. "Alecs."

"Alecs?" she repeated, brow furrowed. "Alec as in Baldwin?"

"Alec as in _smart_." He pulled an ipod out of his pocket and turned it on. "More than smart--brilliant. Giant brains full of nasty ideas. They have a telepathic range of fifty meters, and we just stepped into it. You're sure you didn't feel anything?"

"Yeah." Chrysanthemum frowned, unnerved by the Doctor's abrupt shift in demeanor, and changed the subject. "What's the ipod for?"

He smiled, and she relaxed a little. "This ipod prevents them from reading my mind."

"How?"

"It's full," he said, leaning over to show her the tiny screen, "of the most irritating and inane music mankind has to offer. They can't _stand_ it." He scrolled rapidly down the list, only allowing her to catch the occasional word--"Elgar," "Evanescence," "Hump"--before leaning back and tucking it into the inside pocket of his coat. "As long as I'm listening to this, they'll stay well out of my brain." He pushed the earbuds into his ears, then turned to Chrysanthemum and gave her a look that was very grave, indeed. "It would probably be best if you went home."

She folded her arms. "Forget it. I'm not leaving."

He hesitated, then exhaled. "Fine. But if you feel, see, or hear _anything_ strange--anything at all--tell me _immediately_, understood?" She nodded. "Good. Let's go."

OoOoOoOoO

Sorry this update was a bit long in coming--I got distracted by lambing. But I've all but finished the fic, so future updates should be more forthcoming... particularly the next one. I'm quite proud of the next one.

Reviews are very much appreciated. Hint, wink, nudge, cough, significant sidelong glance.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer:** I _told_ you sometimes I forgot.

OoOoOoOoO

They approached the warehouse in silence, which allowed Chrysanthemum to catch the occasional faint strain of whatever the Doctor was listening to--at the moment, it sounded like something off the "Grease" soundtrack. The Doctor stopped her when they reached the door, indicating that she should stay behind him, and she nodded again--she had no intention of wandering about when she had no idea what was going on, or what exactly these "Alecs" could do.

The warehouse was clearly abandoned, but far from empty. There were rusty conveyor belts lined up along one end, stacks of flattened, dusty cardboard boxes, and paper strewn about. A few offices were tucked away in the back of the building, and two staircases led up to the roof. It wouldn't have surprised Chrysanthemum to learn that homeless people regularly bunked there, but at the moment, there were no signs of life. _Human or otherwise_, she thought to herself as she looked around.

The Doctor slipped along the wall like a shadow and crouched in the corner, hands digging into his pockets once again. "Keep an eye out, and don't wander off," he said in a soft, low voice as he pulled some square, metal devices out of his pockets and started to affix one of them to the wall. It was about the size of a remote control, and like a remote control, it sported a small keypad. The Doctor punched in a code of some kind, fingers moving too quickly for Chrysanthemum to make out the number sequence, and a tiny bulb at the top of the device lit up. She was about to ask him just what it was, but then she remembered that she was supposed to be keeping an eye out and obediently turned to scan the room. Still no sign of anyone else. A thread of doubt quietly wove its way into her thoughts--how exactly did the Doctor _know_ these Alecs were about? If they were reading her mind, why didn't she feel anything? And if they weren't--well, why not? Were her thoughts _that_ inconsequential? She felt insulted, and then she felt stupid for feeling insulted. She should be glad they seemed to be leaving her well enough alone.

She nearly jumped out of her skin at a light touch on her shoulder, but it was only the Doctor. He raised his eyebrows, faintly amused by her reaction, and she scowled and thumped him on the shoulder. Grinning outright, he jerked his head towards the offices, indicating that it was time to move on. Again, she followed, checking the overhead beams for any sign of the squirrel and trying not to sulk.

The offices were in an even greater state of disarray than the storage space. Chairs were upended, drawers hung half-open, paper covered almost all of the floor, and what wasn't covered with paper was covered with mold. Chrysanthemum wrinkled her nose as the Doctor went to work in the corner once again. Crouching behind him, she whispered, "What are you doing?"

The Doctor didn't respond, and she felt a rush of indignation before she remembered the ipod. Rolling her eyes, she gave him a poke. He turned and removed one of the earbuds, from which issued a faint melody. Turning her head, she leaned forward until she was able to make out the chorus of "Climb Ev'ry Mountain." The Doctor frowned as she jerked back abruptly. "What?"

"I just wanted to know what you're doing," she said.

His frown deepened, though she thought she could see something like an apology in his eyes. "If I don't tell you, you can't tell them." He popped the earbud in and turned back towards the wall.

Stung, Chrysanthemum stood. These supposed 'Alecs' weren't reading her thoughts--the Doctor himself had said they wouldn't bother. And considering everything she'd done to help him, with the mammoth and the squirrel and all, he could have had the decency to at least tell her what the hell they were doing in this nasty old warehouse. He hadn't even told her what Alecs _looked_ like; how was she supposed to keep an eye out for them? And what the _hell_ did he mean by "you can't tell them"? Did he think she would just turn around and sell him out like that? That she'd sing like a bleeding canary at the slightest provocation? Being ignored by the Alecs was nothing, but being brushed off by the Doctor--_that_ was insulting.

She considered telling him so. Then she considered just giving him a good, swift kick in the arse while he was distracted with his stupid metal thingamabobs. But before she could make up her mind, she heard a faint rustle from outside the office. She hesitated, unsure of whether or not to tell the Doctor. _Oh, sod him._ She was perfectly capable of peeking out a door.

She picked her way over to the office door and carefully stuck her head out. It only took her a moment to pinpoint the source of the rustle: her squirrel was rooting around on the floor, shoving paper about with its nose. It sat up, looked at her, and chirped.

"Hey," she whispered, holding a hand out and snapping her fingers, "get over here!" The squirrel blinked at her and bounded a few meters away. Stopping again, it looked back at her and flipped its tail teasingly. "Cheeky little..." Chrysanthemum started forward, then stopped, hesitating in the doorway. She probably shouldn't wander off. But the squirrel was right there, and as she'd told the Doctor, she wasn't about to leave it. She'd just nip out and grab it. _He won't even notice I'm gone._

Unfortunately, the squirrel was no longer in the mood for cooperation. It would wait until she was close enough to consider making a lunge for it, then it would bound forward until it was just out of reach. Half-crouched and increasingly irritated, she chased it halfway across the warehouse. It started up the stairs, and she picked up speed, not wanting to lose it among the rafters. She was so focused on its fuzzy little tail that she didn't even realize she was on the roof until a whack of wind blew her hair into her mouth and made her choke. She clawed the hair out of her face with a "Bleh!" of disgust, then froze.

She wasn't alone.

There were three _things_ on the roof in front of her. Her immediate impression was that they looked a bit like gumball machines going tubing. Their bases were donut-shaped and a matte black that refused to reflect the sunlight. From these bases sprouted what looked like Greek columns that had started to melt a bit in the sun, wider at the bottom than at the top. Nestled on top of the columns were large, glass bowls full of green liquid, little bubbles, and brains the size of sleeping beagles. The bowls were topped with flat, metal caps like hockey pucks. A red, glowing bar ran around the edge of the cap, and from the top sprouted what looked like a tiny satellite dish. And all three dishes were pointing in her direction.

_So, you've finally arrived._ There was nothing on the thing that resembled a mouth, but it didn't seem to need it--it spoke directly into her mind in a voice that sounded just like Christopher Walken.

_We've been waiting,_ said the second one, which sounded more like Jack Nicholson.

"Who--"

_We are the Alecs,_ said the third, its voice like half a dozen children chanting in a monotone. _Do not waste time with human speech. Only think._

_Jesus,_ Chrysanthemum thought, _why do they all have to sound so freaky? Shit, they totally heard that. And that, too, oh bollocks I never should have come._ She tried to back towards the stairs, but her legs didn't seem interested in obeying her brain's furtive commands.

_Don't be in such a hurry to leave,_ said the one she decided to call Alec Walken. It's tone was eerily reasonable.

_We're here because we need your help,_ said the second one, Alec Nicholson.

_My help with what?_ Chrysanthemum asked warily.

_Destroying that meddlesome Doctor,_ said Alec McScarykids.

There was a pause.

Chrysanthemum frowned. _Why would I want to help you do that?_

_We've heard your thoughts. You find him irritating._

_Well, that was because--_

_Ego bigger than the Flagelloptrium Nebula, that one._

_... Okay, maybe, but--_

_And,_ added Alec Walken, _he's a liar. Your boyfriend had it right when he said the Doctor just makes it all up as he goes along._

_I don't think--_

_He's a menace. A plague wandering the cosmos. He must be brought to justice!_

_What has he_ done? Chrysanthemum thought-shouted.

There was a pause. Then Alec McScarykids grimly intoned, _He destroyed our people._

She shuddered, though whether from the scariness of the chanting children or the scariness of the message, she wasn't sure. The Doctor didn't seem like the species-destroying type, but then again, she hardly knew him. What if it was true? She stood, shivering in the brisk wind, not knowing what to think or what to do.

Something pressed into her right ear.

"AND I'M PROOOOUD TO BE AN AMERICAAAN, WHERE AT LEAST I KNOW I'M FREEEEEE..." some country singer caterwauled into her ear at maximum volume. With a collective shriek of agony, the Alecs withdrew from her mind, their little satellite dishes whirring around in consternation. A hand clamped around her arm and dragged her back to the stairs.

"AND I WOOOOON'T FORGET THE MEN WHO DIIIIED, AND GAVE THAT RIGHT TO MEEE!" It was the Doctor, his face grim as they clattered down the stairs, the other earbud planted firmly in his ear.

"AND I'LL PROUDLY STAAAAAAAAND _UP!"_ They hit the concrete floor and sprinted for the doors. "NEXT TO YOOOOU, AND DEFEND HER STILL, TODAAAAAAAAY..." He slammed the doors open and pulled her out into the scrubby lot, still holding tight to her arm to prevent either of them from losing an earbud.

"CUZ THERE AIN'T NO DOOOOUBT, I LOVE THIS LAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAND!" As they ran away from the warehouse, the Doctor fished a device out of his pocket--a small, silver remote dominated by a large, red button. He pushed it.

"GOD BLESSSS THE--" and the rest of the chorus was mercifully drowned out by the bone-jarring BOOM of the detonation. A fireball engulfed the warehouse, blowing out the few remaining windows. Chrysanthemum pitched forward and hit the ground as the shock wave slammed into her back, knocking the wind out of her. Before she could recover, the wind was knocked out of her once again by the Doctor landing half on top of her. She curled her arms over her head and tried not to inhale his tie as they were both lightly sprinkled with debris.

Eventually, the last echoes of the blast faded away and her ears stopped ringing. The earbud--miraculously still in place--was quietly playing "Pomp and Circumstance." With a groan, she yanked it out and let it drop.

A hand patted the back of her head. "All right?" the Doctor asked.

"Sort of." Chrysanthemum winced, sat up, and surveyed the smoldering wreckage. "Good grief," she breathed.

The Doctor pushed himself into a sitting position, turned off the ipod, and tucked it away. "I think that went rather well, all things considered."

She looked sideways at him. "Did it kill them?"

"The Alecs?" He shrugged. "Probably not. They have a tendency to teleport away at the last moment. And even if it did, there are plenty more out there." He stood, then offered her a hand up. After a brief hesitation, she took it. "Why?" he asked, giving her a searching look as he pulled her to her feet. "What did they say to you?"

"Nothing." He raised an eyebrow, and she shrugged uneasily. "Lies, apparently."

"They do that," he said. Frowning, he looked over her shoulder, then stepped around her and picked something up off the ground. He looked at it for a long moment, head bowed.

"Doctor?"

He turned around, his expression hovering between polite sorrow and amusement. "Here," he said, holding out a stuffed, singed squirrel. "I believe this is what you came for."

Chrysanthemum stared at the squirrel, then slowly reached forward and took it. It was frozen in a sitting position, head tilted to one side, as if baffled by the proceedings. "Thanks," she said quietly.

They stood in silence for a few moments, the Doctor staring at the smoking crater he'd created, Chrysanthemum absently brushing the sand and grit from the squirrel's fur. She thought about breaking the silence, but found she didn't have the slightest clue what to say.

"Well," the Doctor said suddenly, making her jump, "I suppose now that the Alecs are taken care of, I can be on my way."

"Where will you go?" she asked, squinting up at him.

"Oh, I dunno," he shrugged and ran a hand through his hair, liberating a few puffs of dust in the process. "There's plenty to explore out there."

Chrysanthemum nodded her agreement. "Big world."

"Small world," he corrected, then grinned. "Big _universe."_

Chrysanthemum stared at him, then nodded again. Things suddenly made a bit more sense. Scratch that, things suddenly made a _lot_ more sense.

"If you're ever in the area again," she said, taking a step backwards, towards home, "you should stop by."

The Doctor nodded once. "Oh, definitely. Yours was the..." he paused, brow furrowed in thought, "third drive on the left, wasn't it?"

"Yeah." Chrysanthemum frowned a little--why was the Doctor leaving? Then she realized that he wasn't; he was standing still, but her legs, as if finally getting the old "move!" memo her brain had sent them on the rooftop, were carrying her away without her permission. And he just stood there, watching her retreat as if he'd expected no less. "Sorry," she said sincerely, as if a third party were dragging her off and there was really nothing she could do about it. She had just enough time to catch the sad little smile that flitted across his features before her legs turned her around and marched her straight home.

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Not even my parody can escape the black hole of Tenth Doctor Angst. Woe.

One more chapter to go, people! Then we move onto the NEXT adventure in what will probably turn out to be an embarrassingly epic series!

Please to be reviewing, even if it's just to say hello. I like to know who my readers are. (insert grin that is not at all evil, no, certainly not, here)


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer:** Finishing fics is a rare thing. Don't get used to it.

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The rosebush was still intact.

That had been odd, and enough to make Chrysanthemum initially question the reality of everything that had happened. She had expected to see a few blackened, twisted branches, or even just a sooty mark on the lawn, but the rosebush appeared untouched. Her mum had been disinclined to comment on the rosebush, or on anything else that even remotely involved the Doctor. She'd even stopped watching _Casualty_. Mike was much the same, acting as if it hadn't happened, feigning confusion and changing the subject whenever Chrysanthemum tried to bring it up. It was maddening.

But the Doctor had left plenty in his wake, so much that Chrysanthemum was shocked at how quickly things were smoothed over. Damage was repaired (with the exception of the warehouse, which had been conveniently scheduled for demolition), a mammoth was returned to a museum (though in a vastly different pose than the one in which it had originally been displayed, to the puzzlement of officials). She even attempted to restore the basement to its original state, though that didn't work so well. The fish no longer quite fit on their stands and had to be unceremoniously wedged in place. The rest of the animals were in poses that were far from flattering--the mallard had its neck stretched in curiosity or alarm; the fox cringed, ears back and tail down; the deer's head was twisted up and a little to one side, as if flinching. Two of the squirrels sprawled like little rugs, the third would have looked nice if half the fur on its tail hadn't been singed clean off.

The rest of the city could forget what had happened, but Chrysanthemum couldn't set foot in the basement without seeing proof of it all on display. So she avoided the basement, laundry day excepted.

It was now a week after the Freak Warehouse Explosion, and Chrysanthemum was sprawled on the couch, making a half-hearted attempt to read _Notes From Underground_. From the basement came the distinctive _whump-whump-whump-whump_ of an off-balanced load of laundry. She rolled her eyes and shut the book; her mum had gone out, which meant she'd have to go and rearrange the towels or whatever it was. She heaved herself off the couch, trudged to the basement door, unlocked it, and swung it open.

She was halfway down the stairs before she remembered that it wasn't laundry day. She hadn't put anything in, and her mum had left the house two hours ago. As if realizing that it shouldn't exist, the noise petered out, leaving only an embarrassed silence. Chrysanthemum froze, one foot hovering in midair. Then, cautiously, she continued down into the basement.

Wedged in a corner was the WARDIP. She blinked at it. After a moment, the door swung open and the Doctor poked his head out, leaning his arms on the round frame. His gaze wandered idly around the room before it finally rested on Chrysanthemum. He blinked at her a few times, as if he was having difficulty focusing, and then beamed. "Chrysanthemum First, I've been thinking!" he announced.

Chrysanthemum tried to speak, failed, swallowed, and tried again. "Have you?"

"Yes!" He leaned forward, wavering precariously, and Chrysanthemum wondered if he was drunk. "You know, you really were quite helpful just now, with the mammoth and the Alecs and all--"

"What d'you mean, 'just now'?" Chrysanthemum asked.

The Doctor frowned. "Well, it was only just a few..." he trailed off, and she realized with a start that there was still dust in his hair. "Oh, bollocks. When am I?"

"What?"

"How long has it been since the explosion?"

"A week." She paused. "How can you _not know that?_ And why is there still dust in your hair?"

"There's dust in my hair?" He frowned and pawed at it. "So there is. Anyway, I _meant_ to get here right after you did, and to ask you if you wanted to come with me all dramatic-like, but apparently the moment's been gone a week." He wrinkled his nose and slumped against the door frame. "Disappointing, that. I was writing a lovely speech in my head and everything." He pouted, then brightened. "Ah, well, who needs a prepared speech? Far better to improvise, I always say! Spur of the moment, on the fly! And _speaking_ of spur of the moment--"

"Nice segue," Chrysanthemum said, beginning to grin in spite of herself.

"Thank you." He inclined his head modestly, then clambered out of the WARDIP. Any dizziness he'd been experiencing seemed to have cleared up; it was a steady hand that he rested on top of the massive washer. "Anyway, I was wondering if you fancied a spin in the old girl. A sort of thank-you trip. It'd be fun!" Then came the familiar manic grin.

Chrysanthemum furrowed her brow, intrigued. "Where would we go?"

"Anywhere! Any_when_! Since the WARDIP can travel through space and time, the possibilities are rather limitless."

"Space as in... outer space?"

"Yep! Do you have a favorite nebula?" He gave the ceiling a pensive glance. "I'm rather partial to the Vellindorian Nebula, myself. Ever been there? Course you haven't! Care to go?" He flashed her an excited grin and bounced on the balls of his feet.

He was talking so _quickly_. If this was what it was like inside his head, no wonder he'd looked dizzy. Chrysanthemum swayed a bit in sympathy, then regained her balance and peered at him. "Are you serious?"

He raised his eyebrows. "Very."

_Well,_ Chrysanthemum thought. _Well. It's not as if you have anything_ better _to do._

"What about Mum?" she asked. She wasn't really worried about this: she could leave a note, and if the WARDIP could do what the Doctor said it could, she could theoretically be back in two minutes. And if the WARDIP _couldn't_ do what the Doctor said it could, then they'd never leave the relative safety of her basement, though the WARDIP's very presence _in_ her basement was proof enough that it could do at least half of what the Doctor said it could, and quite probably _all_ of what the Doctor said it could. She was just curious to see how the Doctor would respond.

A look of horror flickered over the Doctor's face, but he quickly composed himself, only showing mild dismay. "Did you, er, want her to come along?"

Chrysanthemum stared at him for a long moment, then smiled faintly. "No."

"Oh!" He visibly relaxed. "Good! Not that I have anything against your mum." He scratched the back of his neck, then frowned at her. "So... what about her?"

"She might worry."

"Leave a note." The Doctor waved a dismissive hand. "Besides, the WARDIP can travel through time, as I said. I can have you home inside ten minutes."

_Assuming he's not off by a week again._ Chrysanthemum nodded once, deliberately ignoring the little voice in her head. "Well," she said, "that nebula... what was it called, again?"

"Vellindorian," he supplied with a hopeful little smile.

"Sounds nice." She paused, considering, then grinned. "I'll go write a note."

The Doctor beamed. "Fantastic! I'll just get the old girl warmed up!" He turned and dove headfirst into the washing machine.

Chrysanthemum pounded up the stairs and into the kitchen, yanked a piece of scratch paper off the fridge (it had a grocery list on one side, but the other was blank), picked a pen up off the counter, and chewed her lip. After a minute of thought, she wrote, _Mum--Went out w/ the Doctor (he came back). Back soon, promise. Don't worry too much. Love, Chrys._ She put the note in the middle of the dinner table where it couldn't be missed, then thumped back downstairs.

The WARDIP door was still open, and she could faintly hear the Doctor banging about inside. She was about to swing herself in, but she hesitated. Should she bring anything? Technically, they weren't going to be gone long. And she supposed it would be creepy and presumptuous of her to show up with a suitcase. Still, for some reason, she didn't want to just leave home with _nothing_. Her eyes roved around the room, then focused on a single object. She grinned.

Using one hand to brace herself, since the other was wrapped around a stuffed, singed squirrel, Chrysanthemum climbed into the WARDIP's door and slid out of sight.

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Many, many, MANY thanks to all of my fantabulous reviewers! I might have given up on this site if it weren't for you fine folks. Thanks also to all the lurkers--_someone_ got the hit count past 400, and it sure wasn't me. I really appreciate your time and attention.

And I'm not finished, yet! Coming very soon--a Hooey adventure that crossovers with "The Velveteen Rabbit," of all things. To pique your curiosity, here's a free preview:

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"Little Rabbit, don't you know who I am?"

The Rabbit considered the new arrival. She did _look a bit familiar, but he couldn't recall ever having met her before._

"I'm afraid not," he said honestly, shivering a little. The night was cold, and her bare arms were cool around him, failing to ward off the chill.

"I am the nursery magic fairy," she explained. "I've come to take you away and turn you Real."

The Rabbit digested this. "But I thought I was _Real."_

"Real to the Boy," the fairy said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "I shall make you Real to everyone."

__

The Rabbit wasn't entirely sure he liked the sound of this. "You're going to take me away? I would much rather stay with the Boy, if that's all right."

The fairy was no longer smiling. "You must come away if you want to be really Real. Don't you wish to be Real, little Rabbit?"

"Well," said the Rabbit, a little frightened and not wishing to upset her, "I suppose so."

"And you shall be. Do not be afraid, little Rabbit. I am going to take you home." The fairy's arms tightened around the Rabbit, and they shot into the sky.


End file.
